​To run, or not to run — that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The boils and carbuncles of outrageous shoes
Or to take arms against a sea of shoe manufacturers
And by opposing run barefoot. To lie down, to sleep — 
No more — and by a sleep to say we end
The heart’s race, and the thousand unnatural shocks
That running flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To lie down, to sleep — 
To sleep — perchance to scream ENOUGH: ay, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of dearth what screams may come
When we have shuffled off this morbid soil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long distances.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of much time per furlong,
Th' oppressor's rhythm, the proud man's sweat
The pangs of despised joggers, the loo's delay,
The insole of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare foot? Who would nip guards wear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary coach,
But that the dread of something after finish line,
The undiscovered country, from whose bourn
No runner returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather swear those spills we have
Than jog to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of new year’s resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprise of great niche and showmen
With this regard their steps turn awry
And lose the name of action. — Soft you now,
The fair Marathon! — Lymph, in thy orisons
Be all my wins remembered.

We were watching TV,
My friend Billy and I,
When Mommy came in
With a hot apple pie.

She said, “Boys have a piece
Of this hot apple pie,
I’ve made it just now,
Go ahead, don’t be shy.”

I ate one big piece,
And Billy had two,
My mommy makes pies
Like no one we knew!

Then Mommy said, “Boys,
Why sit in the dark?
It’s so sunny outside,
Go play in the park.”

So I looked at Billy
And he looked at me,
We knew that the park
Was where he would be.

But Mommy would not
Let us stay in the house,
So we had to go out
And play cat and mouse.

We walked very slowly,
A little afraid,
We remembered what happened
The last time we played.

But there in the park
We met Danny and Jimmy,
And Bobby and Chad
And Alan and Timmy.

So all of us laughed,
We had a good time,
And I got to show
How well I could climb.

Then Billy just stopped
Like he swallowed a cat,
And we all saw him then,
The brat with the bat.

His real name is Robert
And he’s only ten,
But don’t call him that,
Or you won’t walk again.

The brat was alone
With his only real friend,
That hard wooden bat,
He’d use it to send,

Danny and Jimmy
And Bobby and Chad,
And Billy and me,
Running like mad.

So the brat came to us,
It was too late to run,
He said, “I’ll fuck you all,
This is gonna be fun!”

And he laughed like one
Of the bad guys you see,
Just before shooting
All those men on TV.

Then the brat raised his bat
And broke Danny’s arm,
He cried, “Fuck, this is great!
Like rats on a farm.”

He hit Jimmy and Bobby,
Kicked  Alan and Chad,
And Timmy and Billy
Were bleeding real bad.

I tried to help Billy,
But the brat got to me,
He used his old bat
And busted my knee.

And as we were lying
Out there in the park,
Bleeding and broken,
Alone in the dark,

We heard this man shouting,
Gosh, was he fat,
That man was the dad
Of the brat with the bat.

“Come here good-for-nothing,
Slime piece of shit,
Come, you son of a bitch,
I’ll
   Hit,
      Hit,
         Hit,
            Hit!”

Copyright © 2013 by Moshe Sipper